


A Glass of Chantré

by KandiSheek



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aunt Peggy Carter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Up, Misunderstandings, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rough Kissing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KandiSheek/pseuds/KandiSheek
Summary: The last place Tony expects to see Steve again after their fight is by aunt Peggy's grave. There is just no easy way for them, is there?





	A Glass of Chantré

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this quite some time ago and never finished it until now. Just know that when I wrote this Endgame hadn't come out yet so it's not canon compliant. Enjoy!

There were a few days a year where Tony drank with the dead. The year after his parents died he'd taken a trip to the graveyard on both of their respective birthdays, crying and screaming and drinking himself into oblivion. Jarvis, the real one, had carried him home and told him it would get better, tucking him in as Tony promised himself that he would never drink again. That had lasted about a week.

The next year he'd done it again. And the year after that. What had been a coping mechanism at first had slowly become a ritual and by the time it included Jarvis and Ana it had turned into routine. Just Tony and a bottle of whatever his loved one liked best, sitting by their graves and sharing a drink with them.

Tony didn't actually believe in ghosts or an afterlife or whatever, that wasn't ever the point. But as much as he liked to pretend that he didn't get sentimental about things this tradition was still very important to him. Not even Pepper or Rhodey knew about it.

And now Tony was standing at yet another stone gate with a bottle of Chantré.

He remembered the first time aunt Peggy let him have a sip from her glass, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she put a finger to her lips like it was their little secret. Of course she didn't know that by that time Tony had gone through most of Howard's liquor cabinet at least twice, never mind that he was only fifteen. But that tiny little nip had still felt special somehow.

Tony took in the unfamiliar cemetery as he slowly made his way down the path, reading name after name. It was sobering, as it always was, being confronted with mortality like this. Especially considering how lucky he was to still be alive. A miracle really. Did he deserve it? Maybe.

There were only a few other people around, standing by gravestones and staring at them in silence. An old lady was cutting flowers and arranging them with such loving care that Tony had to avert his eyes. That grief wasn't for him to see.

It hadn't really hit him yet that he would never see her again. Aunt Peggy had always been a force of nature, so much larger than life. Even when he hadn't seen her in years – never even thought of her really and boy was that a way to drive the dagger in – there was never a doubt in his mind that if he called she would answer. Not that he ever did. He wasn't sure if he regretted that. It felt cheap to claim remorse after the fact now.

Tony never actually expected to get invited to the funeral. He knew for sure that he hadn't really had an impact on Peggy's life, not the way she had on his, but for some reason she'd still wanted him to be there. The letter had brought tears to his eyes.

He hadn't gone. Not because he didn't want to see her off, but because he felt like it would be awkward for him to be in the same room as all of the great people she had influenced. It would've felt like too little too late after he hadn't kept in touch with her for more than fifteen years prior to her death. But now, a year later, he felt like he could finally face her. Just her and him. And a glass of –

Oh.

Tony halted in his tracks, frozen by familiar broad shoulders and blonde hair under a baseball cap. It couldn't be –

But it was, wasn't it? And it made sense, with Peggy's birthday and all, but why here, why now when Tony was supposed to – Not that he _would_ but – Jesus Christ, Steve was still a fucking fugitive on American soil, what the hell was he _doing?_

Tony didn't even notice that his left hand had clenched around the burner phone in his pocket until he reached up to wipe a hand across his face. What was he going to do? He felt exposed without the armor, stripped of his defenses just at the sight of him. He'd probably start throwing punches the moment he saw Steve's face. Or throw up. Whichever came first.

But maybe Tony's mind was playing tricks on him and it wasn't him at all. And Tony knew that he'd be kicking himself for weeks if he didn't at least make sure...

Before he knew it he'd started walking towards aunt Peggy's grave. At first Steve didn't turn around, but when Tony's footsteps stopped just a few feet behind him he looked up and – yeah, there he was. Good god, Tony was not prepared for the sight of him.

He looked good. More rugged – what the fuck was that beard?! – but still so familiar. It felt like a punch in the gut. Christ.

Steve's eyes widened as he sucked in a sharp breath, obviously just as surprised. Tony could only stare, the bottle hanging limply from his fingers. Suddenly he was acutely aware that he hadn't brought flowers.

“Tony,” Steve said and the sound of it was so raw that it grated on Tony's ears, his free hand flexing into a fist that he tried to pretend wasn't trembling.

“Rogers,” he replied tightly and Steve seemed to find something threatening in his face because his eyes were suddenly guarded as he stood to meet Tony head on.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked bluntly and Tony bristled at the hostile tone.

“Isn't that obvious?” Tony asked in much the same manner, gesturing towards the grave. “It's not like I make a habit of hanging out in graveyards.”

Steve chuckled humorlessly and the sound made the hair on Tony's neck stand on end. “Of all the things I would have expected of you, Stark.” Tony had so suppress a flinch at the use of his surname. “This is beyond the lengths I thought you'd go to.”

What?

“You should've learned to expect the unexpected by now,” Tony said coolly, not entirely sure what they were talking about, but Steve only seemed to tense up further at his response.

“Well, you got me,” Steve said almost derisively, but the bitterness beneath it was palpable. “Where to, Mr Stark? Straight to Ross or do I get a trial first?”

Tony's blood ran cold. Steve thought –

But of course he did. He'd always assumed the worst of Tony, even when they were supposed to be on the same side. But to think that Steve thought him capable of taking advantage of Steve's grief to bring him in, to _Ross_ of all people, as if Tony were some sort of –

Well. In Steve's eyes he was.

Steve seemed to lose some of his thunder in the wake of Tony's stunned silence, the almost arrogant mask slipping from his face to give way to confusion, but Tony broke the tension with a chuckle of his own, feeling a mean smirk twist his features.

“Yeah, that's me. The government pet,” he said cuttingly, stepping forward as he put his free hand in his pocket to hide the shakes he still couldn't control. Steve tensed immediately, raising his hands in what Tony recognized as his defensive stance, and it should've made Tony pause because the last time he'd seen it Steve had taken the shield and –

No. He didn't think about that anymore.

To his credit Steve didn't throw a punch, not even when Tony stepped past him without a glance in his direction to kneel next to the gravestone, putting the bottle down. He patted the marble, practically feeling the way Steve bristled at the gesture behind him, and leaned down to murmur very quietly.

“We'll do this next year.”

Then he got up, both hands in his pockets as he moved past Steve, giving him a wide berth. He resisted the urge to look back, no matter how much he wanted to.

Steve's eyes burned into his back all the way to the gate.

 

Tony looked out over the balustrade into the Wakandan sunset. The city was still bustling with activity, people handing out food, seeking shelter, looking for survivors. It had been a long time – four years since the Snap – that he'd seen people so cheerful in their misery. It only served to make him feel more guilty that they'd taken so long to make things right. Even thought they'd brought them back there was still so much pain, so many families torn apart –

He was ripped from his thoughts by a presence at his back that, despite everything, still made his hair stand on end. Tony breathed out heavily as Steve walked up to him until they stood shoulder to shoulder, looking out at the landscape to avoid each other's eyes.

They hadn't talked. Not alone anyway and even among the team it never went beyond battle strategies and contingency plans. Tony couldn't claim that he'd made any real effort either, not with Steve or any of the others really. But that was neither here nor there.

Tony waited for Steve to say something but apparently he was just here to – what? Enjoy the sunset? He couldn't fault the guy but really, there were at least a dozen alcoves that didn't have Tony in them where the view was just as nice.

“I can't believe it's over,” Steve suddenly said and Tony felt his mouth go dry at the familiar voice. Christ, he still wasn't over it. “There's still so much to do, but... we really won.”

“We did,” Tony agreed, drumming his fingers on the balustrade. He could feel how tense he'd gotten and he knew it was ridiculous but he still couldn't convince himself to relax. Fuck, he'd had so much time to get over what happened between him and Steve, why couldn't he just let go of it?

Then again Tony had never let go of anything easily.

“Natasha told me you knew Peggy,” Steve said apropos to nothing.

Tony chuckled humorlessly, folding his hands together to hide the way they were shaking. “She was friends with Howard. If you can call it that.”

Steve stayed silent for a long moment. “You weren't there to capture me.” He didn't clarify what he meant, but Tony understood anyway. That day had plagued him for months.

Tony hummed. “No, I wasn't.”

Steve breathed out heavily, dropping his head just slightly. “I always assume the worst of you. Why is that?”

“Beats me,” Tony said carelessly. “Don't worry, you're not alone in that.” Steve made a small, pained noise and Tony raised an eyebrow. “What? It's not like you were wrong. I did work for Ross at the time.”

“I should've trusted you,” Steve said and Tony laughed bitterly.

“No, you really shouldn't. You never know if I'm gonna have your back or break it.”

“Clint's sorry about that, you know?” Steve said quietly. “Have to talked to him since...?”

Tony sighed. “No. He was on earth and I was in space, remember?”

“Yeah, but –“ Steve cut himself off. “Forget it.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “It's not like he was chomping at the bit to have a chat with me. None of us were.” He took a deep breath before he held out his hand to Steve, silently grateful that his tremors didn't show. “I know we've had our differences. But I'd like to have a truce now, if that's okay. No use crying over spilt milk.”

Steve stared at his hand like he'd never seen one before, shoulder tense and making no move to grasp it. Tony waited until the silence became unbearable before he let it sink, sighing inaudibly. He should've expected it, but it still hurt in places he hadn't thought he could still feel things.

“Alright then. Have a nice life, Rogers.”

He turned to leave, but before he could make it five steps he felt a hand on his arm, roughly turning him back around.

“Wait!” Steve shouted needlessly seeing as he'd already stopped him. Tony bristled, but any argument died on his tongue when he saw the desperation in Steve's eyes.

“I can't do this,” Steve said and he looked so helpless, so utterly vulnerable that Tony's breath caught in his throat. “I can't, Tony, I – I can't deal with this.”

Tony's face softened with sympathy. “I know. But Nebula made some good headway with the stones today, I'm sure it'll all be –”

“Not –“ Steve broke himself off with a frustrated huff, running a hand through his hair. “I don't mean – I mean _this,_ Tony,” he said, pointing between them. “I hate this – this _distance_ and I know I played my part in putting it there and I should've trusted you right from the start because – fuck, you were always there for me and I didn't see it, not until –“

“Whoa,” Tony said, overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of feelings. “Okay, slow down. Let's just –“

“No, you need to hear this,” Steve said hoarsely. “Tony, I'm sorry. I can't tell you how much I want to go back and change the way things went for us, not just with the accords but with Ultron and the – everything really. I wish I had made more time to get to know you and to be a better friend to you and just – be _better_ for you because you gave up so much for all of us, the tower and – and the upgrades and resources and your time and money and all we every did was pile more responsibilities on you. It took me a long time to realize that and I'm sorry that it did. I'm really sorry.”

Tony was completely speechless. Of all the things Steve could have said he'd never expected _this._

“Well, I –“ Tony cleared his throat. “Thank you, but. I mean, I didn't just do it for you, I had obligations to SHIELD and the company and –“

“Exactly,” Steve said. “You help so many people and in all the time I've known you I've never heard a single one of them say thank you. Least of all me.” His face twisted into a bitter grimace. “We've all been terribly ungrateful and I just want to let you know that I really appreciate everything you've done for us, Tony. Even if I didn't see it back then.”

That was a lot to unpack. Tony didn't think he'd be able to pick through all that quickly enough to form an adequate response and it was hard to think with Steve's eyes so focused on him anyway. How long had it been since they'd even looked each other in the eye like this?

“I still don't know what your favorite drink is,” Tony suddenly realized and Steve's brow furrowed.

“What?”

“After Ultron, that's what I was thinking about.” Tony swallowed heavily, looking off to the side. “I have this... thing. I do. When I – when someone dies that – means a lot. To me. I go to their graves on their next birthday and share a bottle with them. Of their favorite drink.”

“That's what you were doing,” Steve said, realization dawning on his face. “At Peggy's grave. I thought you –“ He cut himself off, closing his mouth tightly, and Tony sighed.

“Well, I do have a history with alcohol. It's fine.”

“It's not,” Steve snapped. “Don't pretend it is. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions.”

Tony waved him off. “Whatever. Back then, after what – after the visions that Wanda gave us, I could only think about how fucked up it was that I knew all of the other Avengers' favorites because I'd had a drink with them at some point but you – I didn't know yours. And if you had died –“ He took a deep breath. “It's stupid but it really made me sad that I couldn't have shared a drink with you. Because I didn't make the effort to get to know you.”

“Well,” Steve said, a little wryly. “It's not as though I was doing all that well on that front either.” He gave Tony a long look. “But you would have done that? I thought you said it was for – well, important people.”

Tony looked at Steve indignantly. “You _are_ important people!”

“I mean, maybe I was, for a time, but –“ Steve averted his eyes. “Before Ultron you didn't – I mean, we weren't even friends, not really.“

Tony froze. “Huh. And here I thought –“ He shook his head, feeling a cold that had nothing to do with the weather creep over him. “Whatever. I don't care. Good night, Rogers.”

He moved away from the balustrade but before he could get very far Steve had a hand around his elbow again, holding him back. Tony huffed. “Would you stop that?”

“I didn't mean – I'm sorry,” Steve said and he did sound apologetic. A little desperate too but that was probably Tony reading into things. “I didn't want to assume – I mean, I would've loved to be your friend but you were always so standoffish and busy and –“

“I get it, Rogers,” Tony snapped, twisting his arm free. “We weren't friends. Now can I go?”

“I _wanted_ to – Tony, did you want to be my friend?” Steve asked and that was definitely desperation there. Tony couldn't suppress a laugh at how fucking stupid this was.

“God, do you even hear yourself? Is this seconds grade? You don't _ask_ someone to be your friend, Rogers,” Tony said sharply, his heart twisting with hurt. “You're supposed to _act_ like one. Was I busy a lot? Sure. But I made time for team dinners, didn't I? And those fucking baseball nights you were so fond of. And burgers after a mission. What the fuck do you mean I was standoffish?”

Steve's mouth opened and closed a few times but he didn't speak. Tony scoffed.

“Cat got your tongue? How about all the hours I spent upgrading your stupid suit or Barton's arrows or making fucking stretchy pants for Bruce? Isn't that what friends do? Take care of each other? And you know what, when you brought me food to the workshop or asked me to watch a movie together I assumed that was because we were friends, not colleagues. Silly me, huh?”

“We _were_ friends,” Steve blurted and Tony rolled his eyes.

“Make up your mind, Rogers. Either we were or we weren't.”

“We were friends but you didn't _trust_ me,” Steve shouted and Tony tried to hide a wince at the volume. “And I didn't trust you either. That's the whole problem, Tony! I'm sorry but the friendship we had wasn't the kind of relationship I wanted to have with you!”

Well then. “Fine,” Tony said curtly, his face hopefully hiding how deep that cut. “If being friends with me is such a fucking –“

“I wanted to _know_ you!” Steve said, eyes boring into Tony's with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable. “I didn't want just team dinners and movie nights. I wanted to sit in the workshop with you and listen to you babbling about your tech and play fetch with DUM-E and cook you dinner and draw you when you –“ He cut himself off abruptly, running a shaky hand through his hair, not looking at Tony.

Tony felt rooted to the spot. He wasn't sure he was even breathing. “Why didn't you?”

Steve's head whipped up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Why didn't you?” Tony croaked hoarsely, his head spinning. “You could've – goddammit, Steve, why didn't you _tell_ me?”

Steve looked like Tony had just punched him in the gut. “You... did you –“

“If I had known,” Tony started and then dissolved into hysterical laughter that turned into heaving breaths. “Oh my god, we are fucking idiots. Ten fucking years – fuck!”

He felt Steve place a hand on his shoulder tentatively and that was it, fuck it, Tony was fucking _done_ –

He grabbed Steve by the neck and all but slammed their mouths together, pushing until Steve's back hit the wall closest to them. To his credit Steve didn't waste any time getting with the program, hoisting Tony up by the hips and reversing their positions until Tony was the one pressed up against the wall, never breaking their kiss. It was brutal, teeth and tongue and panting into each other's mouths but it was perfect, so much all at once and Tony never wanted it to stop –

“Whoa!”

Tony pulled away just enough to see Falcon standing in the doorway to the balcony, eyes wide as saucers.

“Wow, I didn't –“

“Get lost, Sam,” Steve growled and Falcon lifted his hands in defense, turning on the spot to march back inside.

“T'Challa wants to see you,” he called over his shoulder and he actually sounded amused now. “Just throwing that out there. Have fun, kids!”

Before Tony could say anything Steve's mouth was back on his, devouring him with singleminded focus. But after a few more heated seconds the kiss turned gentler, softening into something almost sweet as Steve set him back on the ground to run his hands over Tony's face instead. Tony felt a lump in his throat, breath hitching because this was all becoming too much, Steve was –

“Tony,” Steve said softly, brokenly, and Tony's heart lurched at the look in his eyes. “I'm so sorry I didn't –“

“No,” Tony said firmly, pressing one more quick kiss to Steve's lips. “We were both absolute fucking morons and we could've been doing this years ago so why don't we –“

“Still, there's so much I still need to tell you, Tony, I –“

“Okay.” Tony put a hand over Steve's mouth, smiling crookedly. “I know that this doesn't mean that everything is magically going to be okay. I'm still pissed at you and there's the whole aftermath we have to deal with,” he said with a nod at the bustling city. “But I've been dreaming about kissing you ever since I was like fourteen so could we just do that for a while?”

Steve still looked doubtful so Tony sighed, resting his head on Steve's chest for a moment.

“I promise we'll get a chance to talk, just – can we please have a truce? For now? I just got you back, I don't want to be angry anymore.”

Steve breathed out heavily, hand coming up to pull Tony more firmly against his chest. “Bourbon.”

Tony stiffened. “What?”

“Straight bourbon whiskey, just a bit of water.” Steve ran a hand through Tony's hair. “In case you were wondering.”

Tony closed his eyes, leaning into the hug with a smile tugging at his lips. “Thank you.”

He could hear Steve's answering smile in his voice, warm and hopeful. “No problem."


End file.
